


reprimand

by riverbed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crying After Sex, Cunnilingus, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Femdom, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Spanking, Submission, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza lets Alexander get away with a lot, much more than she should.</p><p>All she truly asks for is obedience in her own home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reprimand

**Author's Note:**

> i woke up with a great need to write het trash of alex getting punished for being a shithead and wrote this in about an hour.
> 
> it's a day already.

Eliza is firm but kind. Alex knows what’s expected of him; the lines are clear. Honestly, she doesn’t expect a lot. Basic things, like cleaning up after himself, should be obvious but Alex, for all his boasting and outward imagery, still finds sometimes that being domesticated feels like a chore, a mask he could shed for efficiency. He knows he needs the clothes and the walk to offset his filthy talk, knows he’d be totally unbecoming if he were to let himself lose his already-lax sense of decorum. All he knows about polite society Eliza had taught him, and for that he’s grateful - their marriage was more strategically beneficial for him than for her, and everyone knows it. It’s not as if she reminds him cruelly. She’s simply invested in running a household which lives up to her family name.

“You were rather rude to our guests, were you not?” she says to him now, bringing her hand down on his upturned ass, and he grunts, unsure whether to press back into the strikes she’s giving him or jerk forward and away. He’s kneeling on their bed, thighs pressed together and wrists tied in front of him with a silken sash off one of her dresses, supporting himself on his elbows. She places one hand on the small of his back to remind him to keep still and smacks him a few times in quick succession, one more just as Alex is hoping she’ll stop, and then another. That spot will likely bruise, and he’ll be grateful for it as he sits gingerly in his hard wooden chair at the office next week. He reminds himself of this as she pulls her hand down from his back to his bottom, sucking in a breath as she hums and examines the damage she’s done. 

“Pretty,” she says appreciatively, skating her slender fingers across his overheated skin. She tips her hand forward and digs her sharp, perfect nails into a particularly worked-over spot, and he tries to wriggle but it just makes it worse. He lets out an undignified whine as Eliza wraps that arm about his waist, pulling him close to her body as she sits off to his side. She goes back to smacking him soundly, and she’s precise, thorough.

By the time she finally taps his hip with some finality, he’s breathless, fully submissive and ready to apologise. But she doesn’t give him the chance; as he rolls over onto his back, she places her hand over his mouth and nose, not hard, not restrictive of his breathing, but perfectly obvious as far as intent. He bites his tongue obediently, lets her speak. She was always more eloquent anyway.

But his shifting hips give him away. She looks down his body and takes in the display he’s making, tuts under her breath at the state of his cock. His arms are held above his head where his wrists are still restrained. He longs to reach out and touch her, muss her hair, see her as disheveled as he feels. But she is perfectly composed, even as she leans down to press a soft kiss to his hip.

“Get down on the floor, Alexander,” she says calmly, and he scrambles to obey. He lowers himself to his knees at the side of the bed, and she’s smiling as she scoots toward him, coming to rest at the edge with her knees spread to either side of him. He keeps his eyes up, hoping they convey his desperation. He isn’t sure yet if he’s allowed to speak.

She adjusts her chemise, lifting the hem to rest higher on her bare thigh. His eyes flicker down to the movement, and he licks his lips as he looks back up at her. Eliza’s lip curls, and she snickers.

“You take your punishment and you immediately want a reward.” She trails her fingertips down her own thigh, over to tap against his cheek, and brushes a lock of loose hair behind his ear. “It doesn’t quite work like that, husband. Why don’t you go kneel in the corner? Since it’s apparent that if I want something done right, I need to do it myself.” Alexander opens his mouth to plead his case, but Eliza points sternly, and his head hangs as he crawls away from her. He hates turning his back on her. It makes him feel as if he’s wronged her, and perhaps he has; he  _ had _ embarrassed her, got into a shouting match with Thomas Jefferson in the library while she’d been entertaining the rest of their company just outside. He’d thought himself justified until she’d given him a look of death, and he’d gone to their room and sat fidgeting for a good while before she’d finally joined him. Immediately he had been ready to make a case for himself, but she’d been wholly uninterested in hearing it, had told him in no uncertain terms to strip bare and present himself over the bed in the way she liked.

Thinking it best not to argue, he’d done as he was told, folding his clothes neatly and leaving them on a chair by the window. She’d spent some time moving about the room and ignoring him, letting him anticipate. That was the cruelest thing she did; Alexander hated wondering, hated not knowing how much trouble he was in. But it was effective; when she’d first brushed his skin with her hand, he’d sobbed gratefully, begging her to absolve him.

Now, nose pressed against the cool wall to ground himself, he listens to the rustle of her clothing, the way she sighs in the distinctive way that tells him she’s just shucked off her stockings. She’s probably flexing her toes, lying back on the bed and stretching, relaxing. Alex wishes she’d let him help; he’d gladly keep the makeshift cuffs on his hands, even let her tie them behind his back, if she’d just sink her fingers into his hair and let him get his mouth on her. He can do wonders with his mouth, his lips, his expert tongue, quick and fluent. How can he prove himself if she won’t give him the chance?

It sounds like she’s ahead of him, a quiet gasp from the bed behind him followed by a soft moan. The springs in the mattress protest with a slight creak as she moves around, probably throwing her hips up into her own touch and then back down, the same motion and the same sound that’s made when he thrusts into her on that bed. She’s making her own noises, ones he normally covers up with his own of a higher volume, a little whimper and then a slick sound as, he supposes, she pumps fingers in and out of herself. His cock twitches anew at the thought. The burn in his ass is fading out into the promise of pleasure, and he flexes his wrists, trying to keep them occupied. He leans back from the wall momentarily, laces his fingers together and places his palms at the back of his head.

“Good boy!” she coos, and it’s so enthusiastic that Alexander lets out a long breath as he rests his forehead against the wall again. He could survive off praise from Eliza; sometimes the extent to which he craves it actually scares him. Sometimes he can’t get through the day without it, literally stopping short after an upset unless he can imagine her voice in great enough detail. Right now, though, he’s happy to stock up on it, so eager to please her, to make her know how sorry he is, how he never means to hurt her. He wills himself completely still, trying to quell the bone-deep shaking of his body as he desperately staves off his need.

It’s only a few moments before Eliza calls him back over to the bed, but it feels like ages. Alex’s knees protest, a little sore and rug-burned, as he knee-walks to her, grateful to just be facing her. He climbs awkwardly back up onto the bed and finally settles above her, feeling unsure, feeling exposed. He gives her the most assured smile he can muster, and she grins back at him. She looks beautiful, sprawled out on their pillows, taking up all the space on the bed that she wants. Her skin, tawny and smooth, is completely bare, and he takes her in, ever as gorgeous as the first time he laid eyes on her. Her breasts are small, spread apart in her position. Her waist, decorated with the shallow imprint of her stays where they’d been pulled tight to accentuate, is slim and her belly soft. Her feet are planted on either side of him. He chances to lean down and kiss her right knee, and she mewls, hooking that leg over his shoulder to pull him close to her.

“Get to work, Alex,” she says, her voice a bit husky with arousal. Bending down to obey, he is overcome by the scent of her, and as he touches his tongue to her lips he’s intoxicated by the taste; she’s already so wet from her own manipulations. He dives in immediately, settling flat onto the bed and dutifully ignoring the sweet friction it gives his cock, running his still-tied hands over her body above him, feeling the warmth that comes off her in abundance. He wants to sink into her and worship her permanently, so grateful for her patience and training, the way she never gives up on him even if he deserves it. How Eliza lets him have this, and moreover how she makes him work for it. Makes him earn it.

He registers her small hands encircling his own, and then the tie around them is pulled gracefully loose. He thanks her by refocusing his efforts, pushing the flat of his tongue hard against the sensitive bud of her clitoris and then flicking it back and forth, and the moan that pulls from her actually starts down low in her core, rumbling through her body so Alex can feel it where he is. He brings his hands to her thighs and pushes them up, and she chirps, sighs as it opens her up for him. He dips his tongue into her after circling it round a few times, and she gasps as he curls it to reach the sponge of softer, more giving skin just inside her, bucks her hips up into him. Encouraged by her candor, he squeezes the flesh of her thighs, buries his face even further into her, works his tongue hard and relentless before he comes up for a breath.

Alex rests his chin on her pubic bone, the scratch of her dark curls there ghosting on his freshly-shaven skin. He looks up at her adoringly, and she gazes down at him, eyes a little glossy but otherwise bright and alert. She threads the fingers of one hand through his hair and pulls, not shyly, and he groans, his eyes shutting involuntarily. He melts under that pressure on his scalp, and she knows it, can either use it against him or as a reward. He supposes this is probably the latter, and he sinks into her touch, mewling a little when she does it again. “Back to it, sweetheart,” she tells him. “You look so good when you’re a mess like this.”

He moans as he touches his lips back to her, letting her feel the vibration of his voice. She echoes it when his lips part around her clit just enough to suck some pressure there. She’s shaking with the effort of keeping her hips still, and he aims to break that resolve again; he doubles down, takes a hand from her thigh to sink one finger into her, and when she responds by whining loudly for it he adds another, mindful of the difference in thickness between hers and his own and cautious of moving too fast so as not to hurt her. But, as he presses with the pads of them into that same spot he’d found earlier with his tongue, she rolls her hips and bears down, and Alex smiles. He’d forgotten about his own arousal until this moment, and as her wetness drips down his hand to his wrist and he works his tongue over her clit in unison with how she grinds against him, he starts to rub off absently against the bedspread.

Eliza catches him before he can move too much, though she’s reluctant to do much more than swat at his shoulder in an effort to get him to stop. Finally she pulls hard at his hair again, and he goes slack in her grip. To entice him she rocks her hips up and down a few times, as if in promise, and he rubs in hard little circles at the spot he’s pressed inside her.

She comes apart with a soft cry and a flood to his face, and he drinks her down happily, laving his tongue gently over the length of her sex to soothe.

Her hips work her through the rest of her orgasm and he sits back after, hopeful but not wanting to rush her. She reaches out with her thumb and runs it across his lip, her hand dragging through the fluid on his chin. “Pretty,” she tells him again. “Lay back, Alex.”

He flops back on the bed, wincing at the way his backside smarts even on the soft linens covering their bed. She straddles him quickly, rocking back so his cock slides against her, and he gasps loudly and his hips buck up of their own accord. She chuckles darkly and puts her weight on him for a moment, pressing him to the bed, reminding him that he’s not allowed to direct, before she sinks down on him, and the heat swallowing him alone would be enough to make him come if she’d only move a bit faster. He begs wordlessly though he knows she hates whining, and finally Eliza pities him, leans forward to start to move herself up and down on him in rhythm. He wills his hips completely still, wills himself to take it. He’s so close, and she’s right down on him, her body pressed against his so their shared sweat slicks her movement and then she’s kissing his neck, sucking a possessive bruise into the skin over his collarbone, and then, up a bit higher, she nips at his jaw, and he barely has the cognizance to ask permission before he comes undone, his hands on the globes of her ass, gripping to her as hard as he’ll let himself.

Just as he’s floating back down her muscles spasm around him, as if she’s taking claim of him, and he groans, aftershocks of orgasm shuddering through him as her body is taken over by a second one of her own. Exhausted, he moans softly as she pulls herself off of him and wraps a light silk robe she takes from the post of the bed around herself, tying it with the sash she’d used to bind Alex’s wrists. He examines them, remembering the whisper of the smooth fabric, the gentle enforcement of her restraints. He feels stunned to silence, unable to really communicate his gratitude or his love, as she snuggles up into his side and pulls the blanket up over them. But she seems able to read him, talking him down with sugar sweetness in his ear, against his neck as she kisses him there. He shivers, his body remembering their tryst viscerally, and then he feels tears sting at the corners of his eyes and squeezes them shut against them.

“Alexander?” she asks, sitting up a bit. She traces the contours of his chest with her fingertips, and she brings the other to his face, whisking the dampness away from his cheeks and then repeating the motion when more tears fall. He bats her hand away, feeling horribly for making her panic, making her take care of him in this way when she’s already done so much. She brings him to her chest, cradling the back of his head in her hands as he cries quietly into the pillow of her breasts. When he pulls away a little he discovers he’s soaked the fine fabric in tears. It just makes him feel worse.

“I hate disappointing you,” he says finally, a bitter edge to his voice. He scoffs, trying to avoid her gaze though there’s really nowhere else to look.

She tilts his chin up gently so he’s forced to look her in the eye. “Honestly, Alexander,” she says, smiling at him sympathetically, “you should know better than anyone: is there anything a little hard work can’t fix?”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm around.
> 
> comments are appreciated.


End file.
